


Save the Last Dance for Me

by butcherface



Series: A Little Less Conversation [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe - 1960s, Alternate Universe - 1970s, Amputee, Fake AH Crew, Flashbacks, M/M, Memory Loss, Undercover, additional relationships to be added - Freeform, fem!Jack, jack is a transgirl, michael is a war veteran
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-05-26 17:59:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6249856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butcherface/pseuds/butcherface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 2 of A Little Less Conversation. </p><p>Michael Jones was just an undercover cop, set on getting Geoff Ramsey behind bars for his association with the FAHC.<br/>Geoff remembers Michael.<br/>Michael doesn't remember anything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. New recruit.

**Author's Note:**

> be sure to read part one! thank you everyone.

“Jones. You're going undercover.” 

Michael felt his breath stop and catch, his uniform suddenly too hot. The room was almost spinning. 

“How long?” He asked. Burns was pressing his mouth in a hard line, stopping his paperwork. Michael was standing straight in front of Burns’ desk--staring at something over his boss’ head. 

“Until we catch the bastard. He’s a lawyer, but he’s unbelievably sketchy. We think he’s the leader of the Fake AH Crew.” Burns was looking down again, opening a file. A picture was clipped to the top of the document of a man in a suit. His hair was pushed back, nose long, and a defined mustache. He was laughing, head thrown back. 

“What’s his name?” Michael said, catching eye of the picture. Something seemed familiar about the person in the photo, but he couldn't remember. Maybe his name would ring a bell. 

“Geoff L. Ramsey. Defense lawyer. Works downtown. You're going to get close to the Fake AH Crew. We know he’s behind it. We just don't have any proof to nail his ass.” The name rang nothing for Jones. He didn't remember a ‘Ramsey’. He chose to let it go, nodding at Burns. 

Burns handed him a folder overflowing with papers and different colored papers. Michael grabbed it and sighed, rubbing his forehead with his other hand. 

“All information you need is in there. Where you’ll be staying, what you’ll wear, your name, fake date of birth, everything.” 

“Thank you, Burns.” Michael sat down and pulled his hat off, holding it against his chest. He had to leave his apartment--the one he  _ just  _ got. He had to leave his friends on the force. Everything. 

“It'll be over before you know it, Jones. You're a damn good officer.” Burns smiled at him, trying to comfort Michael. He cleared his throat and dismissed Michael. 

 

\---

 

Michael took a cardboard box from the filing room and returned to his desk. He started to put his belongings away, checking to make sure he got every knick knack and paper out of the drawers. Heyman approached him, rather confused. 

“What happened in there, Jones? Did the old man let you go?” Joel joked, leaning on Michael’s desk. 

“Nah, I gotta go undercover.” Michael smiled sadly at his friend and continued to nearly stack items in the box. Joel gave him a friendly punch on the shoulder. 

“I know, I'm one of your supervisors. I'm--uh,  _ delivering?  _ You to the crew.” Joel made awkward hand motions and a queasy face. 

“Heyman, I don't need a supervisor. You know that.” Michael said, his tone mocking and overtly smug. 

“Oh, of course you don't. Mistah Big Shot ova here! Can take care of himself!” Joel threw his hands up and did a jazz style motion, unable to stop himself from grinning. 

“Piss off, old man.” Michael laughed with Joel, giving him a light shove. He nearly knocked him over. 

“Later, kid. I'll see you in a few days.” Joel lifted himself up and walked away, shoving his fists into his pockets. Michael shook his head and finished sorting out different things in the box.  

“Kid,” he muttered under his breath. “I'm god damn 28, I ain't no kid.” He hissed, but Joel was already talking to someone else.

 

\---

 

_ “Wait, you were on the force?” Demaris asked, shocked.  _

_ “One of our best. He was only with us for a short time, but he busted a good amount of guys.” Burns was sad, nostalgic. Michael threw a wicked grin at him.  _

_ “You miss me, Burns? You’re the one who sent me out there.” Michael was enjoying this. It was almost like  _ **_he_ ** _ was interrogating  _ **_them._ **

_ “How’d you get on the force with a fake leg?” Michael shrugged at the question, still smiling boldly.  _

_ “He never told us he had it. Ran pretty good with it, hides it well.”  _

_ Demaris looked between them, almost feeling crushed by the tension. These two had a history he couldn't even begin to comprehend.  _

_ “Damn straight, I ran well with it. Gotta learn how to use stuff like that.” Michael rolled his head around a bit.  _

_ “So, you got ready to go undercover--then what? You didn't recognize him?” Demaris seemed confused about that part.  _

_ “I had amnesia. After the war. Woke up on American soil with a bandage on my leg and couldn't even remember my own name. Had to relearn how to walk, talk, everything. I didn't know who I was--much less Ramsey.” Michael sighed, rubbing his temples.  _

_ “Did he remember you?” Burns asked, brows furrowing together again.  _

_ “Oh, did he.”  _

 

_ \--- _

 

The warehouse was bleak, abandoned. Completely disgusting. Michael looked at the walls, bleak and bare. They were gray--splattered by red rust that stood out even in the darkness. The floor was wet, the humidity was disturbing. Joel kept looking at his watch and tapping his foot frantically. Exactly when the time switched to midnight, headlights appeared through the doorway. 

A sleek black car had pulled up, rounded edges and silver highlights. Two people got out and approached the two officers. Joel lit a cigarette and gave Michael a shove in the back. 

“He's all yours, boys.” Joel gave a slight cackle, but it was cut off short when the two figures stopped. 

One had messy hair, light brown. It was sticking out in every direction. He had gold sunglasses covering his eyes and was wearing a rumpled button up shirt. His nose was large. His mouth was hanging open as he stopped. 

The kid next to him looked like he was 18, short black stubble lining his jaw. His oversized hoodie was bright purple. These men didn't mind being conspicuous. The one with the large nose leaned over to the other one and whispered something in his ear. He was met with a nod. 

“Something wrong?” Joel called out. His question echoed. 

“No, No.” A British accent. Michael walked towards them and held a hand out. The British one shook it. 

“Vincent. Vincent Smith.” He said, nodding affirmatively. “Call me Mogar, for business purposes.” The British one nodded. He was staring at Michael like a ghost had appeared before his eyes. The dark haired one shook his hand next. 

“Ray Narvaez and Gavin Free.” He pointed at the British one with his thumb after saying his own name. “We’ll escort you.” Ray shot a glare at Gavin, clearly wanting him to stop staring. 

 

\---

 

_ “They knew me. I had no idea who they were.” Michael sighed. “They obviously knew something about me--I just thought they knew I was a cop off the bat.”  _

_ “Free and Narvaez. Their files are interesting. Best sniper in the city and one of the most skilled-- _ **_distractions_ ** _ \--this place has ever seen.” Burns said to Demaris. He was matter-of-fact, leaving almost no emotion to his words. Demaris nodded and jotted down more notes about the crew.  _

_ Michael could see separate columns for all of them. There was more about Ramsey than even about himself.  _

_ “They were silent the whole ride. Didn't even tell me when to get out of the car. I didn't know where we were. They made sure of that.” _

 

_ \--- _

 

“Boss, you aren't going to believe the guy we picked up today.” Gavin squawked. Ray hushed him. 

Michael was sitting on the couch in what he guessed was the living room. Ray and Gavin had gone into the kitchen to speak with who must have been Ramsey. 

He watched closely as a taller man with dark hair--in a pony tail--slipped through the hallway across from him. He shot a short glare at Michael, before turning into a different room. 

“It’s him, Geoff. I swear. It has to be.” Ray was talking now. It was silent before a new, different voice started talking. 

“He’s dead. It's not him.” The voice was higher pitched. The tone was serious. 

“What if he didn't die, Geoff--” This time, a woman's voice. Michael shifted, sitting up straighter. He didn't know there was a woman in the crew. He counted the members off by name mentally. 

Geoff. Ryan. Ray. Gavin. Jack. 

“Jack, his parents told us that he was dead.” Geoff’s voice again. Michael listened intently. The woman must have been Jack. Were they talking about him? They must have been. 

Michael couldn't remember any of them. 

“He doesn't recognize us.” Ray was talking again. “Gavin wouldn't stop fucking staring. But he looked confused--” 

“I’ll see for myself.” Geoff cut off Ray’s sentence. Suddenly there was footsteps. Michael leaned back into the couch and pretended he heard nothing. 

 

\---

 

_ “Swear, I'll never forget the look on the man’s face. He knew who I was.”  _

_ “You really didn't recognize any of them?”  _

_ “Not one. But Geoff’s face. His face.”  _

 

_ \--- _

 

Geoff came out of the kitchen. He came around the corner and stared at Michael. He was wearing a black sweatshirt and plaid pajama bottoms. He was holding a glass with some sort of hot liquid in it. 

Michael locked eyes with him, and saw Geoff make a similar face to the one Gavin did. His mouth fell into a simple ‘o’ shape. His eyes were widened instantly, completely overthrown with shock. Geoff’s hands were tattooed. They started shaking. 

 

\---

 

_ “I swear he almost dropped the cup.” Michael laughed. “I was a surprise.”  _

_ Burns announced he was going to run and get some coffee, asking if Demaris wanted anything. He left the room and the door’s slam echoed. It was heavy and metallic. Unpleasant.  _

_ “When was this?” Demaris asked, “What year did you join them?” Michael pursed his lips, thinking for a second.  _

_ “Thirteen years ago. 1972.”  _

_ “So, they hadn’t seen you in what, ten years?” Demaris leaned back again, sticking his pen to the edge of his mouth. He began to chew on it.  _

_ “About that. They thought I died in the war.” Michael hummed, reaching for the cigarette pack.  _

_ “But you didn't.”  _

_ “Nope. Just lost a leg, forgot who everyone was. Might as well have died. Only thing I kept was my name and face. As far as they knew--it was only my face.” Demaris leaned over to light the cigarette. Burns returned with two cups of black coffee.  _

 

_ \--- _

 

“Something wrong?” Michael asked, furrowing his eyebrows together. Geoff took several seconds to respond, just shaking his head. He went back to the kitchen. 

“It is. It has to be. You were right.” Geoff’s voice was low and hushed. A cup was set down on the counter. Silence followed. 

Ray came out and passed Michael, gesturing for him to follow. Michael got up and went with him to the end of the hall. He opened up the door to a bare room, empty except for a small bed, a nightstand, and a lamp. All were shoved into a corner. A small closet with panel doors was on the opposite side. Michael let his eyes go over everything, stepping in. 

The walls were cream colored, the floorboards were a dark oak. They blended into the floor. There were no windows. The closet doors were white, and the bed frame was black. The mattress was bare. 

“You're one of us. You'll stay here.” Ray said, staying in the doorway. He leaned against the frame. “We’ll get you a car--if you don't have one.” Michael nodded. “We’ll do weapon arrangements, partner, all of that tomorrow. Sound good?” Michael nodded again. “Good. There's sheets, blankets, and pillows in the closet. Welcome to the crew.”

With that, Ray left and closed the door behind him. 

 

\---

 

_ “He was so blunt and distant that first night. He was the only one who didn't give any indication he knew who I was. Everyone else was just so--obvious.” Michael blew the smoke out as he talked.  _

_ “It sounds like you were introduced to a prison cell.” Demaris joked. Burns was silent.  _

_ “Kinda felt like it, at first.” Michael agreed. “The next morning was a bit better, though. Everyone had slept and was less wound up. Except for Ramsey.”  _

 

_ \--- _

 

The whole crew was sat around the table--except Geoff--passing plates and having side conversations. Breakfast was good. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, waffles, sausage. It was a feast. Michael was even answering some questions the crew had. Where he’s from, what kind of weapons he likes. 

“I’m from Jersey.” He answered simply, mumbling around a mouth full of food. “Moved here when I was a kid.” The rest of the table exchanged glances with uncomfortable faces.

 

\---

 

_ “That part is true. I am from Jersey. They all knew that Michael was from there; so it was weird to them that somebody who looked and talked like Michael--but wasn’t Michael, well. Seemed to have things in common with him.”  _

_ “Where was Geoff?” Burns questioned, raising an eyebrow.  _

_ “His day job. He left early and returned about five. He was a lawyer. Everyone else introduced themselves, creepy ponytail guy was Ryan. Jack was the girl.” _

_ “What about the weapons?” Demaris jotted down everything Michael was saying.  _

_ “Oh, come on. I was with that crew for ten fucking years, caused unbelievable amounts of chaos, and you don’t know what I like?” Michael was amused by this, relaxing back into the chair. Demaris stared at him and frowned. “I’ll give you one hint, but I think Mr.Burns over here knows the answer.” Burns looked up and sighed. _

_ “Explosives. He worked with explosives.”  _

 


	2. Do you?

Michael tossed the ball up into the air, raising his hand upwards to catch it again. He repeated the motion. This time, stopping to give the rubber toy a hard squeeze. His cell was freezing. It was rather an annoyance.

  
He looked around, counting all of the gray concrete blocks again. 20...21...a corrections officer at his cell door. He shot the guy a glare.  
Michael sat up and reached over to grab his aluminum prosthetic, yanking his jumpsuit up to his mid-thigh and pulling it on. He carefully did the straps and then stood up. The corrections officer was making a rather grossed out face--causing a smirk from Michael.

  
“Burns and Demarias want to see you.” The guard cleared his throat and unlocked his door. Michael held his wrists out and let himself be handcuffed again--and then to a metal chain around his waist. Another corrections officer stepped out--seemingly out of nowhere, and they both guided him to the interrogation room.

  
Michael avoided looking the direction of the cells, knowing who he would walk by. They wouldn’t even say hi to him anymore, nothing but deep hatred. That was okay, though--at least they felt something.

\---

“How’d you get a cell to yourself, Jones?” It hardly sounded like a question. Burnie and Chris were both sitting across from him, much calmer than yesterday.

  
“Boys, do they tell you anything?” Michael laughed, the sound echoing in the room. He blew the smoke from his cigarette upwards. Then, he leaned forward. He got really close to the cops, close enough to see them breathe a little harder and sweat a little more.

  
Burns shot Demerias a look of fear and confusion. Demerias was visibly more uncomfortable than yesterday. Michael wondered what they could have possibly found out about him.

  
“These doctors tell me that I don't have any feelings or regard for other people’s--a sociopath. That's what they’re tellin’ me. I'm a little…” Another drag from his cigarette. “High risk.”

  
Demarias changed his expression from scared to a little intrigued. Michael boasted a big grin. Demarias thought he was interesting. Easy prey.

  
“Were you always like this-” Demarias didn't get the question entirely out before Burns cut him off.

  
“He wasn't. Trust me. When he was on the force, it was a heart of gold and a soul equally so. Something happened to him.” Burns looked down, not meeting either of the other people in the eye. Michael felt anger. Boiling rage, creeping up his stomach and seeping into his chest.

  
“ _SOMETHING happened to me? LIFE happened to me, Burns!_ ” Michael shouted, slamming his handcuffs down on the table. He took a deep breath to calm down, setting his cigarette into the ashtray. “Do you know what it feels like to take somebody's life, Burns?”  
Burnie didn't answer. He was silent, pressing his lips together. Michael leaned back.  
“No, Chris. I wasn't always like this. High school was a different time.”

\---

“I leave, tomorrow.” Michael stated, staring into the horizon.  
He and Geoff were up on the roof of an abandoned warehouse downtown. Broken windows, bugs and rats all over the place. It was a shit hole, but nobody would mess with them there. They were watching the sun set before Michael left in the morning.

  
“I know.” Geoff was quiet. His hair was slicked back, yet loose from the wear of the day. A few strands hung in front of his face. He lit a cigarette and leaned back a little, supporting himself with one hand.  
Michael undid the buttons on his shirt, letting the wind blow against his chest. Geoff looked over him, eyes taking in the smooth skin. It would be months--possibly years, before he would see Michael again.

  
“Geoff, you gotta hear this joke…” Michael trailed off, snatching the cigarette out of Geoff’s mouth. Geoff sharply inhaled watching Michael take a hard drag before putting it back into Geoff’s mouth. He blew the smoke out while smiling at Geoff.

  
He told the joke, mouth and hands moving eccentrically. Geoff watched him carefully, smiling so fondly at him. However, he didn't hear a single word. He could only think about telling Michael--telling Michael that he was in love with him. Telling him not to leave, to please stay. He spoke up.

  
“Please don't go. Stay here.” Geoff was quiet, leaning forward again. Their feet dangled 60 feet from the sidewalk, cars honking and beeping below them. For those people, life never stopped. It was moving, racing.

  
Everything was a rush in Chicago. Get here, go there, do this, get this. Work never slowed down. But, in that second--Michael looked down. His eyes narrowed and the grin vanished from his face.  
Time froze.

\---

“You seem like you were a fun guy back then.” Chris said, plucking his pen out of his lip. Over, and over, and over. It was fucking irritating, that popping noise.

  
“I was a bit better off. Not enough bad shit happened to me yet, except being gay. That wasn't a great thing back in those days. 18 and gay.” Michael’s lip twitched. Pop. Pop. Pop. It made him think of Geoff’s tapping. Consistent and rhythmic. He didn’t want to think about Geoff.

\---

“I have to leave.” Michael looked up to Geoff, one hand fixing his hat. They were stood on Geoff’s porch. Michael had his uniform on, a clean gold tag that read ‘Private Michael Jones’ in black.

This was happening, he was leaving Greenville--leaving Chicago. Michael was leaving Geoff, and Geoff still hadn’t told him. He needed to tell him.

“I know.” Geoff says. But it’s empty of emotion, completely void of anything. Michael was leaving, and Geoff did know. However, he just hoped his denial would make it become untrue. It was a hope that they both knew, and they both knew it wouldn’t happen. He had to leave. It was the law.

  
Geoff rested his hand on the wooden support beam. He tapped his fingers. Slow, at first, but aggressively speeding up. Forming a beat, a sound. Some kind of order to the soft sound. Michael watched his bony fingers create a song while Geoff’s eyes looked somewhere far away.

\---

Michael stared at the pen, popping. It was still popping. Pop. Then, it clicked. He snapped out of the trance, clenching his fists tight. Demarias noticed. The bastard had been popping his pen on purpose. He saw Michael watching the pen yesterday. He was writing a note down. Michael grabbed what was left of his cigarette and took a hard drag before mushing it out. He made sure to blow the smoke directly at Chris this time. The smug officer was smiling at him. A slight, subtle smirk. Burns caught that Demarias knew something.

  
“The clicking. Popping. Chewing. It pisses you off.” Chris let out a big grin this time, smiling at him. “My nervous habits are triggering something for you. Time to figure out what.” Michael snarled, letting out a growl.

  
“Fuck. You.” Michael said, slow and deep. He stood a little bit upwards. Burns smiled and let out a laugh.  
“No wonder you were the guard dog. I see it now!” The officers laughed. Making it as if Michael was some kind of a joke to them. Michael wasn’t a joke. He’d make them know that.

\---

Geoff stopped tapping, the sudden stop startling Michael. Geoff turned and looked at Michael’s bag. It was dark green, faded black letters along the side. He looked at it with complete disgust. Michael knew that Geoff hated the thing. There just wasn’t anything he could do about it. Geoff slid his hand off of the beam, moving towards Michael and pulling him into a tight squeeze.

  
“You have to leave.” Geoff mumbled. His voice was soft and innocent, unlike what it usually was. Michael sighed and returned the squeeze, letting his arms slide up Geoff’s back. He buried his face into Geoff’s chest, the loose white t-shirt was soft on his face. He didn’t want to leave. This was what he wanted. Geoff’s breath was hot in his ear, and then he spoke. It was barely a whisper--too soft. “I love you, Michael. More than a friend.”

\---

“When did your relationship with Ramsey start?” Burnie asked, still smug about finding out something that makes Michael tick. It was a small step.

  
“I already told you that. 1961.” Michael rolled his head around, now leaning away from them. He felt the need to protect himself. They couldn’t know what makes him feel anything. They’d use it against him. He needs the power, he needs to regain it. He has the information. He is important.

  
“No. Your romantic relationship with Ramsey.” Burns hissed, crossing his arms. He was frustrated again. Michael had his power back. He grinned in victory, pulling another cigarette out and waiting for Chris to light it. Sure enough, the thin man leaned over and did so.

  
“We didn’t have one until the minute I had to leave for Vietnam.” Michael closed his eyes and let the smoke slowly fill his lungs.  
“And when you got back?” Burnie was growing more and more angry with each vague answer.  
“You mean when you put me right into his arms again?” Another drag. Another deep sigh. Another fist clench.

\---

Michael smiled hard into Geoff’s chest, squeezing his shirt in his fists. It was about damn time Geoff told him. It’d only been six months since fucking everyone knew about it. Geoff trusted Jack with everything, and if Michael’s name came up--well. He told Michael. That was the way they worked. It kept the group honest.

  
“I love you too, Geoff. It's about damn time.” Michael parted himself from Geoff then, grabbing his bag and making his way down the stairs. He stopped at the end of the path, standing still. Geoff watched him, waiting for him to make the left and leave him.

  
Geoff couldn't believe what Michael had said--he’d returned the gesture, returned the feelings. He was completely shocked, just standing there. Watching Michael. Waiting for Michael to leave for the next few years.

  
Then, that feeling happened again. Where time stopped. This time, though, without the city and the people moving without them. The was their time. Completely them. Just the sound of birds chirping, the wind blowing the trees. It was ominous.

  
Michael dropped the bag. Geoff’s breath hitched up. Michael turned his head so Geoff could see his face. Michael was smiling. White teeth boldly on display.

\---

“He told me he loved me right before I left. If that’s what you're asking.” These handcuffs were starting to hurt. Rubbing and rubbing. These questions were annoying. Almost as annoying as that popping.

  
Pop.

  
Pop.

  
Pop.

\---

Michael spun and pushed off, racing towards Geoff. Geoff was standing in his doorway, completely still, not understanding what was happening. Michael threw his arms and hands over Geoff, pulling him into a kiss. His rough fingers grabbed Geoff’s jaw, pulling closer. Anything to be closer.

  
It felt like minutes before Michael felt Geoff relax a little, gently wrapping his hands over Michael's waist and kissing him back. Nothing else mattered. It was them. It was only them.

\---

“Did you love him too?” Burns swallowed hard when he heard Demarias ask the question. Michael closed his eyes. He stamped out his cigarette.

  
“I’ve had enough of this today.” He said. It was flat, monotone. A basic avoidance to the question, not even cleverly hidden under sarcasm and witty comments. A monotone avoidance statement. He didn't answer and both of the cops knew why.

  
“Answer the question, Jones.”

\---

Michael sighed, sitting on the end of the bed. He slipped his now wrinkled shirt back on, staring down. Geoff was laying in the bed watching, observing the way the green fabric slid over Michael’s tan skin. It was smooth and free of blemishes, his muscles were toned. Michael stood and pulled his pants on, not looking at Geoff.

  
“I'm going to be late. I can't be late.” Michael whispered, doing the buttons. Geoff was still a little sweaty, small drips on his pale skin.

  
“It’s going to be okay, you're fine.” Geoff’s tone was comforting. Michael sat back on the bed, leaning down to push Geoff's hair back and kiss his head.

\---

“Believe me. I loved him more than anything.” Underneath the years of nothing but rage, years of hatred. Michael felt a small spark inside of him. He was telling the truth. He loved Geoff.

  
It wasn't past tense.

 

  
He still did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember you can leave suggestions/edits/etc below! Comments are always appreciated and keep me motivated!


	3. Remember me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief descriptions of violence/torture. Talk of nightmares/flashbacks.

Geoff had sent Michael out with Gavin for a small bust. It wasn’t supposed to be anything big--just a tiny little blip on the radar. Don't attract police attention. Get in, get out, make a few bucks. A little corner store. Shouldn't be that bad, right? 

Things got out of hand. 

“You did  _ what? _ ” Geoff hissed through his teeth. Michael and Gavin sat in front of him, panicking looks exchanged between them. 

“Look, he pulled a gun on us--” Gavin started, but Geoff silenced him. 

“So you blew up the  _ whole building? _ ” Geoff’s voice dropped, laced with venom. He squinted at them. Michael winced, ears still ringing. The explosion had been unbelievably loud, louder than he remembered them to be. 

 

\--- 

 

“At this point I was still having issues. I’d only been out of war for a year or so--I had flashbacks whenever an explosion or a gunshot was heard.” Michael sighed, shaking the chain on his handcuffs. “Each flashback was a new memory I had forgotten. It was...interesting.” 

Burns had the smallest flash of sympathy across his face. It was slight. Michael saw it. The man had a soft spot for Michael--even if he was putting on this aggressive exterior. 

“You had PTSD.” Burns nodded at Michael. Michael sighed and rolled his head around, cracking his neck. 

“Yeah. I did. Back then, there wasn't a name for it. It was just images and sounds and nightmares. Kinda sucked ass, especially when nobody knew what to call it.” Michael coughed and reached for his glass of water. 

 

\--- 

 

Vivid images of blood and running flashed behind his eyes. He woke up panting, a thin layer of cold sweat laying over his body. Michael sat straight up, staring at his door. They were screaming at him, begging him to run. Get away, move away from this, get out alive. 

There was so much blood. His friends--his comrades, burned and charred. Blood. He tried to stop the bleeding. It wasn't working. His friends still died. They still had horrible scars, displayed boldly up their bodies. Michael grabbed the end of his leg, hands over the blanket. He steadied his breathing, counting the reps of breaths. The pattern of his torso expanding out. 

Knock. Somebody was at his door. He let go of his stump and ruffled the blanket, making his shorter limb go unnoticed. 

“Come in.” His voice was raspy. When did that happen? It was dry. He’d have to get water. He wasn't expecting Ryan. 

“Are you okay?” His voice was a whisper as he slipped into the room and stood by Michael’s bed. He was in nothing but a plain shirt and sleeping pants, hair left down. A vastly different look than Michael was used to seeing. He looked..casual. Human.

“I'm. I'm fine. Why?” Michael was shivering. He held the edges of the blanket tightly. His words were broken. 

“You were screaming again.” Ryan sounded...concerned. Michael froze. Again? Had it happened a separate time? He felt the already cold sweat freeze against his skin. 

“Just--just some nightmares. That's all.” Michael looked down, very focused at counting the wrinkles in his bedspread. He heard Ryan sigh. 

“Vince, one night somebody else is gonna hear. They all sleep like logs--but one of them is going to be up for water or something and hear you.” Michael nodded. Ryan was right. 

“Why are you awake, though?” Michael looked up and faced Ryan. Their eyes met and Michale felt a chill run down his spine. 

“I have trouble sleeping. I'll wake up for hours a few times a night.” He sighed again, heavier this time. He leaned down and gave Michael a comforting pat on the shoulder. “Tell someone, man. Even if it ain’t me. You gotta say something. Before they notice.” With that, Ryan slipped out of his room again. 

Michael thought about that. These people were already dancing around him on their toes, treating him like a bomb that couldn't be diffused. He laid back down and shuffled around--finally slipping back to rest.

 

\--- 

 

“The Vagabond?" 

“Oh, yes. He was the Vagabond. Let me tell you, Burns. After you see a man skin another slowly, painfully, exposing every single muscle--it becomes hard to unsee. He’d make them eat their own flesh raw, demanding they choked it down.” Burns made a disgusted face, so Michael grinned and leaned for you. 

“That man is a monster. Why do you think he doesn't have a cell mate?” Michael laughed, the sound echoing. “He stays with a crew member, or nobody at all. They banned option one. So he killed his bunk buddy.” Burns shuddered at the thought. 

“You say he was still kind, though--” 

“Oh, yes. Ryan is kind. Ryan collected plants and gave Ray sweet kisses. Ryan snuck into my room to make sure I was okay.” Michael rested his hands on the table. “Ryan separated himself from his crime. Ryan and the Vagabond are different people, Burns. I learned that. That's what I'm telling you.” 

“We’re here to talk about Ramsey, not Haywood.” Burns gulped. Michael groaned. 

“I'm getting there! It's a long story, Burns, let me tell it.” Michael snarled, foot stomping on the ground. His metal leg whacked against he table. Burnie jumped. 

“Okay, okay. I'm not turning down information. I'm here to learn about Ramsey.” 

“That's unfortunate. He's not the most important character, you know.” Burns squinted at that.  _ Character.  _ Michael was treating this like a book, or a game. 

“If not him, who?” 

“I am.” Michael’s smile twisted, glad to have shifted the conversation away. 

“You're a humble piece of shit, you know that?” Burns muttered, scribbling something down. He looked up to Michael still smiling at him. Eager, excited. Despite claiming to despise this tale, the man was everything but getting off on the attention. 

“Self-love, my liege, is not so vile as a sin, as self-neglect.” 

 

\---

 

Breakfast was quiet. They didn't talk to each other. Michael looked at all of them--confused. Geoff had joined them today, feasting on his eggs. He was in pajamas, he must not have had work. Jack cleared her throat. 

“Vince, Gavin--after your stunt yesterday you both have to lay low. Stay inside the building until this blows over.” She instructed, scraping the last of her pancakes up. Gavin gulped and looked at Michael. They both nodded at her. “You can go on the balcony or the roof if you so desperately need fresh air. But--please, for the love of God, stay inside.” 

Jack stood and carried her plate into the kitchen. She had a serious edge to her instructions. Michael felt intimidated by her. Michael followed with his empty plate, setting it in the sink and turning to face Jack. 

“Are you okay, M--Vince?” Michael’s eyes widened at her almost slip. She caught herself. He blinked at her and ran a hand through his hair--thick curls catching on his fingers. The motion calmed him, reminded him of the world he would be going back to. 

 

\---

 

“That was it. I knew right then--they knew who I was. I didn’t know how, but they did.” Michael laughed and pulled out a cigarette, leaning over for Burns to light it for him. Burns reluctantly complied, whipping out a zippo. “She almost said my name. So damn close, but ah,” Michael waved his hand dismissively. “Gavin was the more interesting of the crew.” 

 

\---

 

“I'm fine. Why?” Michael furrowed his eyebrows together. Jack looked sad, almost hurt. She patted him on the shoulder. 

“We all hear you. It's okay, you know.” She sighed and left the kitchen. Michael leaned against the counter and focused hard on keeping his breath even. 

 

\---

 

“They were all worried, huh? It's a damn shame you're such a bastard.” Burns muttered, jotting down something in the notepad. 

“It's unfortunate Chris can't join us today. Where’d he go?” Smoke came out of Michael’s mouth as he spoke. Burns tensed a bit. Michael’s eyes were everywhere. He kept changing the subject, trying to distract Burns in some way. 

“Sick. Continue with the story. They all heard you screaming?” Burns looked uncomfortable, refusing eye contact with Michael. 

“Yes, they did. But that’s not what was interesting. I had been waiting for days for one of them to say something to my face, say my name. It took until then.” Burns waited for Michael to continue. “I told you, Gavin was the most interesting. He really caught my eye, more than Geoff even. He made me more uncomfortable than the Vagabond, like any and all movements I was making were being watched.” 

 

\---

 

Michael won’t ever forget what it feels like to have the cold metal of a gun pressed against your neck. Freezing, making your hair stand on end when you hear the click of the safety being turned off. He sharply inhaled. There was ragged breathing behind him. Michael slowly raised his hands upwards, letting his eyes reach towards the sky as a small prayer. He was going to die, without ever getting back to the force. Then, Gavin spoke. 

“Michael Jones.” His voice was shaking, low and angry. Michael’s eyes widened. This was it. His heart pounded hard and fast in his chest. Beating against his rib cage, telling him to fucking  _ run. _ Michael swallowed hard and closed his eyes, still keeping his hands raised in surrender. “Your name is Michael Jones, not Vincent.” 

“Yes.” Michael feared that if he didn’t answer honestly, Gavin might just shoot. They knew, there was no way they didn’t know. He was going to die. 

“Why the fuck are you here under a different name? Why the  _ bloody hell  _ are you acting like you don’t know who we are?” Gavin’s voice was shaking even more now, along with the piece of metal against Michael’s neck. 

“Put away the gun.” 

“No.” The response came out as quick as the request. He still sounded a little unsure. 

“There’s no reason for you to have that against me. I’ll answer your questions.” Talking Gavin down seemed like that best method to get out of this, to stop staring death in the eyes and coming up with a secret handshake. 

 

\---

 

Michael stared blankly at the table with the memory. It haunted him, feeling Gavin be that aggressive. He was supposed to be the soft, goofy one. Not the one threatening to kill an undercover cop, not the one refusing to cooperate. His hands were trembling, barely holding onto the cigarette. Burns clicked his pen, watching Michael intently. Fear. Fear was racing through his veins. He hadn’t known fear in a long time, years. The  _ click  _ caused his head to shoot up and glare at Burns, hating this. Hating how easy it was for these stupid cops to get to him. He was better than that. 

Michael took a breath and composed himself, throwing his charismatic smile back on and returning to the tale. 

 

\---

  
  


“You answer my questions. Then I put the gun down.” The voice was solid now. It was absolutely sure of the fact that it could kill Michael right now and there wouldn’t be an issue. “You are Michael Jones, correct?” Michael could feel the metal twist, pulling on his skin. They were stood in the kitchen, Michael’s coffee long forgotten now. 

Gavin had waited for everyone else to leave. He waited to get Michael alone, to corner him like a god damn animal. It was humiliating, but it was smart. He had to give the boy more credit than he did. 

“Yes. That is my real name.” The sentence sounded far away, like his words weren’t coming out of his own mouth. He felt separated from his body. The aggressive pounding in his chest making sure he didn’t forget where he was. 

“You served in the Vietnam War?” The metal shied away from the skin, relaxing a bit. 

“I--yes. How do you know that?” Michael peeked over his shoulder at Gavin. He was completely dressed, dark blue button up shirt and black pants coordinating perfectly. Gavin’s face was twisted completely, anger and hatred burning in the way he shaped his mouth and eyebrows. But his eyes looked forgiving, shining with something Michael couldn’t recognize. 

“You don’t remember.” Not a question. It was a weak statement. Michael took the risk, swallowing and turning around to face Gavin. Gavin’s face fell, he looked lost. All aggression there before had vanished. The gun now sat at Michael’s chest, an inch about his skin. If Gavin shot, it would hit Michael’s heart. He could still die. Michael grimaced at the statement--no, he didn’t remember. He didn’t know how these people knew him, how they could read him, how they were so cold towards him--how they slipped up on his name, the hint of an M always fading over their lips. 

“No.” The words sliced the silence apart, cutting the slack look on Gavin’s face. Now it was confusing, eyebrows tightly furrowed. Michael tried to keep himself steady, avoiding any kind of weakness from showing. He evened out his breathing. The pistol was suddenly touching Michael, pressed into his chest. Gavin had stepped closer, corning Michael against the counter. Anger. Rage burned behind green eyes. 

“ _ Liar. _ ” Came from gritted teeth, hissed out in an ugly sound. “Bloody  _ liar. _ ” Michael’s eyes widened in shock, gently reaching out to touch Gavin’s shoulder. He didn’t yank away immediately, but he was surprised by the action. 

“I do not remember you. I do not remember anybody here. Why would I know you guys?” Michael kept his tone even, sincere. He made sure he kept eye contact, searching Gavin’s face for a sense of belief. The rage still burned, but it was softer now. 

“How? How is that possible? You came to us--you,” Gavin pulled the gun back and clicked the safety on. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, leaning into Michael’s hand. “You came here. Ray and I, we thought you were coming back.” Gavin opened his eyes and looked down at the golden pistol in his hands, examining it. He tucked it back behind him and finally met Michael’s eyes again. 

“I do not know who you people are. I was told your reputation, and shoved into this. All I knew was that you were the Fake AH Crew. I promise, I know nothing else.” Michael put his other arm down and reached out to touch Gavin’s other shoulder, holding him tight. 

“You...you went to highschool with us, Michael.” Michael barely heard the words. They seemed distant, too far away. Gavin stared, waiting for an answer. Michael’s jaw went slack as he thought, tried so fucking hard to remember. But he couldn’t. He just remembered waking up, he remembered his dreams, he remembered the force. 

“I don’t even know…” Michael let go of Gavin and crossed his arms. “I don’t even know where I went to highschool, okay?” He turned back and grabbed his coffee mug. Gavin stared. He looked hurt, but also sympathetic. He realized Michael wasn’t lying, he really--he didn’t remember. 

“What happened to you out there? You don’t remember me, Ray, Geoff…” Gavin swallowed hard and folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t remember Geoff.” The words stung Michael for some reason. They carved deep into him. 

“No. I don’t.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! You, yes you. Thank you for reading. Please leave a comment with any suggestions/concerns/compliments. They motivate me to keep it up.


	4. I promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's hard to forget when your brain is so insistent on trying to remember

Gavin’s face fell apart completely, finally flooding with understanding of the situation. Michael watched him breathe deeply through his nose, the sound giving a slight whistle. Michael flinched at it--the only sound breaking the silence that crawled in the kitchen. He blinked and saw Gavin younger--scrawnier, not yet having grown into his nose. He was babyfaced, innocent looking and drowning in a jacket. 

The jacket was blue and white, a large G sewn into the right side. Small cursive letters in white engraved themselves on the opposite side. He wore a dark flannel tucked into jeans awkwardly, a panicked expression on his face. Michael blinked again and that younger version was gone, replaced by the concerned Gavin in front of him. 

“Michael?” Gavin’s accent twisted the word, making it sound more like  _ Micoo. _ Michael swallowed hard, abandoning his mug and escaping the kitchen. He sped to his room, working through the furniture and hallways. Everything felt like it was closing around him. His leg hurt. It was a dull ache, working itself to be more aggressive. He had to get it off. 

Michael slammed the door behind him and slid to the floor, grabbing at the leg of his pants to yank it up. He swiftly undid all the latches and pulled off the aluminum prosthetic, tossing it closer to the bed. He grabbed the end of his leg, tracing the scars. It was comforting, somehow. Lessened the ache. The room felt too stuffy, too hot. Almost as if something was confining him. Michael closed his eyes and leaned his head against the door, satisfied at the gentle  _ thud  _ that it left. 

Light footsteps carried over the hallway, stopping outside Michael’s door. He froze, waiting for a knock--anything, really. He let out a deep breath of relief when he heard the front door open and Gavin called a greeting to whoever had arrived, hesitating slightly before his steps vanished into another room. 

 

\---

 

The cell was absolutely freezing, and it was god damn  _ annoying. _ Michael huffed, folding his extra jumpsuit neatly and sliding it into the cupboard. Head count would be here any moment, and he slid his way forward to the bars. A loud series of clangs making its way closer indicated the guard was close. Michael watched with half lidded eyes as the guard paused in front of his cell, smiling darkly at him and letting out a small chuckle. The man was tall--much taller than Michael--with impossibly broad shoulders and dark skin. His voice was low and deep, scratched up from who knows what. Michael had no idea, and he didn’t care. 

“Is there a problem, officer?” He kept his tone slick and threw in a small smirk. Michael leaned his head against the concrete wall, crossing his arms firmly across his chest. The guard leaned in close and whispered something to Michael. 

“Oh, nothing. It’s just so amusing seeing you all like this. Like sheep to the pen, you’re ready for slaughter.” With that, the guard straightened up and moved on to the next cell, leaving Michael to watch him go. This time, he had no smart reply. He had no smart comeback for this, he just watched the man leave. The man’s chuckle, low and covered in gravel, reminded him of Ryan. Sounds the past few weeks had started to get to him, screwing up his ability to think. He hadn’t felt that in a long time. 

Michael lowered himself onto his bed, rolling up the leg of his bright orange uniform. He stared at the heap of scar tissue covered in straps that was where his knee should be. He traced a finger over the worse of the marks, one that struck up his thigh and disappeared under the rest of his uniform. 

With a heavy sigh, he rolled the pant leg back down and realized he felt uneasy. He didn’t feel right, almost as if every one of his movements was…

_ Being watched.  _

Michael looked over to the bars to see Burns staring. He had a blank stare on his face, but the glint in his eyes showed he was definitely interested in those scars. Michael composed a quick smile and stood. 

“Like what you see, Burns?” He grabbed onto the bars, getting as close to the officer has he could. “Think my scars are interesting?” Burns’ lip twitched at Michael’s tone, aggressive and demanding. He wanted to know why Burns had decided to watch him instead of announcing his presence. Michael wasn’t prepared for the response. 

“I think they’re disgusting, just like you are. It’s time for more questioning.” Michael pulled back from the bars and put a hand over his heart in mock offense. 

“Oh, Burns. I’m hurt. They aren’t my fault, you know.” Michael chuckled at the end of that, reaching out of the larger break in the bars so Burns could handcuff him. 

“Doesn’t make you any more of an appealing monster.” Burnie wouldn’t meet Michael’s eyes, despite Michael’s attempts at ducking around to meet them. 

“Harsh with the insults today, aren’t we.” Michael pulled back once again and listened to the clicks and sliding noises of the cell door opening. Burnie didn’t reply, simply shoving him into the hallway and forcing him towards the interrogation room. 

 

\---

 

“What the fuck were you  _ thinking? _ ” Geoff gave a harsh shove to Gavin’s shoulders, knocking him off balance. He was overloaded with rage. Michael hid just out of sight, in the shadows of the hallway. He watched the events unfolding in front of him. Gavin fixed his posture and locked his legs in a more sturdy position--he was getting ready to take Geoff on. At the very least defend himself from the obvious anger. 

Geoff was still in a suit, tattoos creeping out from under the sleeves and decorating his hands. His tie had been loosened, top button undone. His hair was a mess and he ran a hand aggressively over it. He huffed and glared at Gavin, awaiting an explanation. 

“He admitted it, Geoff--he is Michael.” Gavin tried to get the words out, not letting down the posture. Geoff seemed to break even further, neck snapping up. His eyes looked hurt, glossed over. His mouth twisted into an ugly shape before he replied. It was so quiet that Michael almost didn’t hear the words. 

“You’re lying to me.” His voice had cracked, previous anger almost entirely gone. Michael felt his chest tighten at the sound of it. Gavin seemed to relax a bit, concern showing for his friend--his boss. 

“I’ve never once, ever lied to you. He’s alive, and he’s here--I don’t know how. It is him.” Gavin’s voice had softened yet grew confidence with every word. Geoff turned and looked at Michael. Michael froze, holding his breath. Gavin followed his gaze and his mouth fell open at seeing Michael. 

“You’ve been here this whole time.” Geoff started slowly walking towards him. Michael couldn’t bring himself to do anything but nod, shift his position off the wall and step out into the light. Gavin looked completely shocked. His eyes kept shifting between them. Geoff was hunched over, eyes half closed. He looked so damn tired. “Is what he’s telling me true?” Michael swallowed but made no move to reply, simply looking up at Geoff. Geoff had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen, they twisted something in him. 

_ I promise, I’ll change it to something much cooler. You’ll see. _ Michael watched as orange flames lit up the way Geoff’s nose hooked, his large ears. The person in front of him looked nothing like the Geoff he met. Somehow--he knew it was him. The large leather jacket hung loosely off his shoulders, scrawny arms pulling a can to his lips. A quick goofy smile at the fire.  _ I promise. _

“Michael.” Geoff’s voice was assertive and yanked him back into reality. He was breathing hard, no longer looking at Geoff. He felt like a frustrated child, unable to get his thoughts to properly make ends. Geoff’s hand was on his shoulder. Michael looked up. 

“Why don’t I remember you?” Geoff immediately pulled the hand back and took a step, Gavin still watching the conversation unfold. Michael rubbed a hand against his face and debated on whether or not he should exit the conversation. He rocked on the balls of his feet. Geoff looked like he was struggling to figure out an emotion in response. 

Geoff’s face hardened and he grabbed his keys, storming out of the apartment. Michael and Gavin watched him leave before meeting eyes and grimacing together. Gavin ran a hair through his messy hair, shrugging at Michael. 

“He went to the roof...I--I’m sorry for telling him.” Gavin sighed and stared at the ground. Michael furrowed his eyebrows. 

“How do you know where he went?” Michael cocked his head to the side a little bit. It felt like there was a baseball stuck in his throat. Everything was heavy and weighing him down, insisting he didn’t move. Gavin sat down on the couch, hesitant to answer the question. Michael gritted his teeth and let out a small growl. 

“Whenever he’s upset...he goes onto the roof. I don’t know why, boi.” Gavin pulled his knees up to his chest after kicking his shoes off. “You should go talk to him.” Michael widened his eyes. 

“I don’t think that’s best right now, Gavin.” He kept it steady, hiding the shock away from that. Gavin raised an eyebrow. 

“I keep forgetting that you don’t remember…” Gavin sighed, shutting his eyes tight. “He’s missed you so fucking much, just. Trust me on this. Before everyone else gets back.” Michael decided against questioning Gavin further, shrugging on a jacket and leaving the apartment. 

 

\---

 

“You were...seeing younger versions of them.” Chris sounded confused, pondering the idea. He tapped his pen against his lip. Tap. Tap. Tap. 

“Yes. It was pretty fucked, if I do say so myself.” Michael scratched the cuffs against the table. “It was the beginning of that turning, finding out who I was--who they were.” He looked around the room and shifted uncomfortably in the hard metal chair. Everything was so uncomfortable. Everything was so  _ annoying.  _ Tap. Tap. Tap.

“What triggered Geoff’s?” Burns was firm on keeping them talking about Geoff. He was gradually growing more serious as the tale went on, days merging together. Michael smiled at him. 

“His name. Geoff. I was seeing the night he gave me the lighter. Geoff P. Fink.” Michael nodded and sighed. “The day he promised me he would change his name.” Further scratching the table with his cuffs, Michael winced when the metal pressed a little too hard into his skin. 

“You followed him onto the roof, correct?” Chris had stopped popping the pen on his lip, instead clicking it on the table. Click. Click. Click. Michael twitched, lip curling up on the corner of his mouth. 

“Correct.” He growled--leaning further forward on the table, closer to the officers. “And he was waiting for me.” 

 

\---

 

Michael climbed out of the door and took a quick inhale of the fresh air surrounding him. The sky was illuminated a number of different shades of pink and orange. Boxes and rows of plants and small trees were organized over most of the roof. Michael looked over the expanse of the area. Bright flowers of different colors were in bloom over the edges of the building, some vines hanging from the doorway he came out of. 

He walked slowly forward, searching for Geoff but getting caught up in looking at all the plants. IN the center of the concrete garden was a small area with benches and a table. He went up to the large pot by the benches, vivid orange flowers packed tightly in it. 

“They were always your favorite.” Michael’s head snapped up, hand still gently resting on a petal. Geoff was sitting on the edge of the building, legs dangling off. His head was turned slightly, looking at Michael. His hands firmly gripped the edge. “Tiger lilly. When you were younger, your mom grew them. They were always your favorite.” MIchael’s breath hitched. Neither of them made a move to get any closer to the other one. 

“They still are. How do you know that?” He pulled his hand back, looking away from Geoff and at the pot on the other side of one of the benches. Round blue flowers bloomed. They were smaller and thicker than the pot with the lilies in them. 

“Those are blue bells. They’re my favorite. Snapdragons are the ones by it, Ryan’s personal favorite.” Geoff sighed and looked back into the sky. “Ray’s roses, Gavin’s honeysuckle bushes. They’re all here. If you wanted to know.” Michael looked around at all the different colors, blending and flourishing so well together. He eventually looked back at Geoff, still not making a move towards him. 

“How do you know what my favorite flower is?” Michael asked again, slightly more aggressive this time. That wasn’t something people just  _ knew. _ All he remembered was getting bundles of them in the hospital, the orange and red flecks warming his heart. He didn’t know where they came from. 

“Come here.” Geoff continued dodging the question, patting the empty spot next to him on the edge. Michael was wary, still not budging from his spot. Geoff turned his head slightly again. “Please.” 

Michael walked slowly through the intricate maze of plant life, reaching the edge and climbing over. He gripped the solid edge and held on tight, letting his legs dangle. They could see the whole skyline from here. 

_ Please don’t go. Stay here. _ The streets rushed below them, the skyline standing out so boldly in front of them. Michael knew this view, he recognized it so strongly. Geoff’s voice was in his ear, but his mouth wasn’t moving. It sounded so far away.  _ I leave tomorrow. _ His own voice now, haunting him. Geoff was staring at him, watching his face flash through different emotions--living through memories he didn’t know he had. 

“We’ve been here before. I don’t remember why. All I remember is that I had to leave, and we were here.” Michael loosened a hand and rubbed his leg with it. Geoff looked sad. His eyebrows so slightly tilted upwards, eyes glossed over. 

“You are right. We were here before.” Geoff sighed and looked away, back to the skyline. “The day before you left. After you got drafted. Your last night here, we came to this building. We came here all the time, because nobody was ever here. It was an abandoned warehouse.” Michael took deep breaths, thinking about the memory that was suddenly attacking him--flashing inside of his mind. 

_ Geoff, you have to hear this joke.  _ It was funny, possibly. Geoff was laughing, so much younger now. He didn’t have the bags under his eyes, he had dorky big ears. His leather jacket had been tossed aside and strewn across the concrete edge of the roof, large white shirt tucked into his jeans.  _ It’s so funny, I swear. _ His own voice was echoing against the roof top, in between them. Michael shook his head and snapped back to what was happening now. The Geoff in a suit that was next to him, hands twitching as he watched Michael--watched him snap back and forth, trying to figure out what his brain was trying to do. 

“Fink. Geoff Fink?” Michael furrowed his eyebrows and stared down at the streets below them. Geoff froze and stared at him. Out of the corner of his eyes, Michael watched Geoff stiffen and then relax immediately, shifting around. 

“I told you that I would change it to something cooler.” Michael looked up at Geoff--witnessing the smile fade again. “You still don’t know, do you.” Michael simply shook his head. 

“I keep seeing things--things that happened a long time ago. Things that I didn’t know happened.” Michael climbed off the edge and stood back to face the garden. “When I woke up in the hospital, there was a golden lighter in my belongings.  _ Geoff P. Fink _ was carved into it. I still have it, but…” Michael trailed off. He was unsure where to go with the sentence. He shook his head and sighed--starting to make his way back through the plants to the doorway. Geoff’s desperate last attempt towards him stopped his leg from pulling the other one along. 

  
“We were together, Michael.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you know who the cameo security officer is, comment who you think and i might contact you further for a short prompt or something. because if you know who it is bless ur soul
> 
> thank you for reading, as always  
> comments and kudos are always appreciated! they keep me writing


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are chords in the hearts of the most reckless that cannot be touched without emotion

_“Do you ever think about where we’ll end up? When we don't gotta worry about school anymore?” The orange light of the fire reflected off of Geoff’s face as he spoke._

_“I think we’re gonna do something fuckin’ awesome, doll. They'll never forget who we are,” Michael laughed, poking at the flame with a stick._

_“You reckon that?” He asked earnestly, turning to fully face his friend. He had that wicked glint in his eyes, the one he always had when his mind was churning with ideasr._

_“Yeah. I sure do.”_

\--

Ryan was out in the yard, heavy focus on doing pull ups in the exercise area. Michael approached him wearily, slowly making his way over. The lighter was a firm weight in his hand. 

“Can I ask you something?” Ryan froze, letting himself drop and landing neatly on his feet. 

“I have absolutely no desire to speak with you,” He spat, shoving past Michael. It threw off his balance, and he grabbed the fence nearby. 

“Do you think I ever loved Geoff? The same way he loved me?” Michael said, just loud enough for Ryan to hear. The taller man stopped in his tracks and stood straighter.

“Yes. I do think that. Before you changed. You turned into a fucking monster, and I don't think you're capable of loving anybody but yourself. Especially after what you did.” With that, Ryan trudged over to the social area where he simply leaned against a wall, scowling in a different direction than Michael. 

Michael let the words sink for a second before heading back inside. Of course Ryan was right, he was cold hearted and brutal. He had never shown one ounce of remorse for what happened to all of them, for the things he did. 

It was easier that way. 

\--

“I thought you and Haywood had been close,” Chris asked, furrowing his eyebrows. 

“Years of love can be forgotten in the hatred of a minute. We were close, but he has no reason to trust me now. He's right, you know. The things I've done are just well done truly awful,” Michael smiled at it, knowing what he was. 

“What exactly did you do to all of them? I mean, hell, only half of you are even able to be found and all of you are here.”

“We’ll get there, doll, just let me talk.” The pet name oozed out of Michael’s mouth like slime, foul and slow. 

\--

“Is it because I don’t remember?” Michael let the question slip, his voice was small and quiet. He could feel the cold silence afterwards. He refused to look up at Geoff, keeping his focus on his hands. It seemed like hours--days, the awkwardness reeking the air around them. It felt like they were both holding their breath. It was almost a stand-off, one waiting for the other to make a move. “You said we were together, but I just don't fucking remember.”

Finally, Geoff took a deep breath, and replied. 

“It’s not--Michael, it’s not because you don’t remember--that’s, that’s not it.” Geoff sounded defeated, the usually edge to his voice was gone. He was no longer walling himself in behind layers of apathy. 

“Then, why? Why do you spend so much time avoiding me, leaving the room whenever anybody else talks about high school? Or even me, or the war. You can barely stand to stay in the same room as me, and you’re my boss!” Michael raise a hand to rub his brow, frustrated at the situation. 

They were finally dealing with the elephant in the apartment, and it did not want to leave. 

“Because you don’t remember but I do.” Geoff’s voice was breaking. Michael finally looked up at him and took in the way that Geoff was expressing himself. 

Geoff was standing, facing him. His hands were resting on his hips, pushing his jacket back, his posture struggling to stay straight. His eyes were glossed over, his dark eyebrows were furrowed. He was searching for something in Michael, any kind of response or answer. Geoff’s lips were pressed in a hard line. He looked like he was feeling some kind of mix between anger, frustration, and sadness. However, his stance wasn’t defensive--or aggressive. It was open.

“I remember everything about you, okay?” A single tear broke and rolled down Geoff’s cheek. His voice was worse now, cracking. “I remember every curve of your back, where all your bones stick out in awkward ways that you hate. I know where the scar is from the time that Ryan had stabbed you in a brawl. I know about every single line of muscle definition in your chest, all the awkward bumpy spots on your knees from falling as a kid. I know how you got every scar on your hands, your arms.” Geoff was raising his volume slightly with every sentence, trying to make himself sound stronger. He wanted to assert himself and gain some kind of control. 

“You have a birthmark on the back of your left thigh, you thought it was just a big freckle until you were 16. There’s a slice on your right thumb from cutting yourself the first time your brother handed you a knife. You just wanted to see if it was as sharp as he said, because you didn’t believe him,” His voice was loud, but still broken--cracking. His emotions were out in the open entirely now. “I know about the spot on your head where hair won’t grow because you slipped and fell when you were younger. I know fucking everything about you, Michael. But you didn’t even know what my name was when you saw me again.” 

Geoff laughed, wiping his cheek and looking up at the ceiling. Michael didn’t respond, and stared. He let his mouth fall open, completely in awe of every detail that Geoff knew. He remembered all of them, even after years of not seeing any of those features on Michael’s body. A feeling of guilt sprouted deep in Michael’s chest, coming into full bloom within a few moments. 

“You get angry when water won’t boil in under ten minutes. Your biggest pet peeve is when people chew with their mouth open. Every waitress in every diner in Chicago has had you tell them they look nice. You broke my nose when we were 17.” Geoff pointed to the clear point in his nose where it was bent. “And again when we were 18.” He pointed again to his nose, this time to the bottom--near his nostrils. Right under the sharp hook that hung off, his septum was boldly distorted. 

“That’s why, Michael. That’s why.” Geoff was breathing a little harder, once again pressing his mouth into a hard line. He crossed his arms, hunching over. He was sinking back into defensive mode, putting up his walls again immediately. 

The silence filled the room again, except now they were staring at each other. Michael thought over every part several times, trying to figure out what to say. 

“I didn’t know there was a birthmark on my thigh.” He managed to whisper. 

“It’s right under your asscheek. I’m not sure how you found it to begin with.” Geoff’s hard expression cracked into a wide smile.

“Geoff?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I’m sorry that I don’t remember-” Michael sighed heavily before continuing. “-but. Could you tell me more?” 

The smile vanished from Geoff’s face. He looked confused. 

“What?” He asked. 

“About myself. Can you...sit down, and tell me more about myself. I didn’t know any of those things, except that I was infuriated when Gavin wouldn’t shut his mouth over dinner.” Michael pushed a grin on his own face, inviting Geoff to sit down next to him. 

Geoff did sit down, and took one of Michael’s hands in his own. He opened Michael’s hand, rubbing his fingers over all the scars and tough skin. He pointed to a large red scar that almost bubbled over Michael’s palm. 

“You got this because you suck at cooking.” 

Michael laughed at that, curling his fingers tightly around Geoff’s. They were here, and Michael could feel the memories pushing at his mind. 

Stolen smiles in a drugstore aisle, hidden away from everyone else. Laughing at the different kinds of rubbers they had on the shelves. 

\--

“Ours is a love story, but it doesn't have a happy ending.” Michael stared down hard, frowning. “What him and I had, I--”

Burns put a hand gently on Chris’ shoulder. 

“I think that's enough for today,” he muttered. 

“He’s quite possibly the smartest man I ever got the pleasure of knowing. He dreamed and achieved things nobody else could. And I will always appreciate his influence.”

Chris shot Burns a look, knowing that this was the most they had ever gotten out of him. 

“What happened to Geoff Ramsey, Jones?”

“Oh, the poor bastard is dead. I shot him myself. Once, twice, right through the heart. He never should have paraded such a sensitive thing around, especially not with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the year long absence, I promise I've been working on stuff! Hope you enjoyed! Comments are always appreciated.


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